Old Drum And Loyality

I read this piece to my first year animal management course in college each year and without fail it created an emotional reaction.  It helps that the kids are animal lovers but I reckon most people love the sentiments.  Hope you enjoy it!  The picture shows  a statue to Old Drum in Warrensburg, USA.

Senator Vest's "Tribute to the Dog"

It is strange how tenaciously popular memory clings to the bits of eloquence men have uttered, long after their deeds and most of their recorded thoughts are forgotten, or but indifferently remembered. However, whenever and as long as the name of the late Senator George Graham Vest of Missouri is mentioned it will always be associated with his love for a dog.
Many years ago, in 1869, Senator Vest represented in a lawsuit, a plaintiff whose dog "Old Drum" had been wilfully and wantonly shot by a neighbour. The defendant virtually admitted the shooting, but questioned to the jury the $150 value plaintiff attributed to this mere animal. To give his closing argument, George Vest rose from his chair, scowling, mute, his eyes burning from under the slash of brow tangled as a grape vine. Then he stepped sideways, hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets, his gold watch fob hanging motionless, it was that heavy. He looked, someone remembered afterwards, taller than his actual 5 feet 6 inches, and began in a quiet voice to deliver an extemporaneous oration. It was quite brief, less than 400 words:
"Gentlemen of the jury: the best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his worst enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it the most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honour when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him and the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous... is his dog.
Gentlemen of the Jury: a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death."
The jury deliberated less than two minutes then erupted in joint pathos and triumph. The record becomes quite sketchy here, but some in attendance say the plaintiff who had been asking $150, was awarded $500 by the jury. Little does that matter. The case was eventually appealed to the Missouri Supreme Court, which refused to hear it.

A poem on grief that will not heal

In our writing group there was discussion on recent suicides, especially among the young in our community, and the anguish they leave behind.  Knowing how desperate one must be to take one's own life there can only be compassion for those who find themselves in that lonely place.  Certainly no judgement or condemnation is intended but this poem arose from the consequences of such actions on those who remain behind.  

 

Suicide

In violation of my love

You took your life

Cutting our link with death’s blade

I bleed your loss profusely

Searching for a tourniquet of reason

Guilt, despair, explanations

cannot dispel the utter pain

Of knowing I was not enough

When my heart wails its willingness to face any ordeal for you

Any but this cold dead box

Nails hammered into sweet memories of love

Earth now covers that part of me

That was the best

What remains but this shell of deadness?

A mockery of living.

Etched upon my soul

Your absence is an acid

It burns unrelieved by time

Why not plunge the blade in here

It would have been a kinder deed by far

To my Nephew, James

It has been a pleasure watching you turn from an active toddler to a steady young man.  In my mind you are ever the tiny two year old who could not stand still but bounced on his toes as if anxious to start the race of life.  So much energy and so interested in everything.  Always so eager to make a start, with mind racing on in this direction and that.  Stoic and thoughtful you come at life strangely settled inside.  As if all the major decisions have already been taken somewhere.  Those important ones concerning principles, direction and morals.

I love your delight in creativity as it finds an echo in my own path.  How mundane not to create something fresh and rub ones hands in glee at its creation.  Not dependent on adulation, financial reward or even applause.  It makes life worth living and watching you listening to a track of your latest musical piece, eyes closed in concentration, head back to feel the music and shaking side to side slightly as if absorbing the sound waves selectively, is a lovely image.  May each day bring more such births along.  When so much nowadays is bring torn down, besmirched and corroded it is even more vital to be creative.  When destruction seems the key word today then let creativity be ours.  It is good to be choosing a different path.

I am firmly convinced creatively is a kind of inspiration.  It comes from somewhere outside us, but finds expression inside.  We just have to be clear channels to allow it out and share it with others.  So may the year ahead be filled with loads of inspiration and may your channel ever be clear.

Saving tiny birds one day at a time

Visited my elderly neighbour Joyce a few doors down from our old home yesterday in Coleraine.  Our house was a rotten wreck invested with wood worm and had a capacity to be much colder inside than the ambient temperature outside.  But our neighbours were universally lovely.  When we moved in we were greeted by one who brought flowers, chocolates and a massive bowl of fruit.  Joyce two doors down would appear at Easter, Christmas etc with one of her home baked cakes, those heavenly concoctions that only six decades of practice can produce.  I remember when my husband had a bypass operation in London and we had to fly over together, she sent a lovely note to my youngest son, left alone in the house, saying if he was lonely or hungry to call with her.  I really thank God for such people they make the world around them so much sweeter. 

You’ll not find them on the front page of your newspaper, or interviewed in a Jeremy Kyle show, or in your local court building, she will not create litter or vandalise your street, so you will probably never get to meet Joyce but be heartened that she exists.  I had obviously visited a little too early, half ten in the morning, but she welcomed me in with nice cup of coffee and slice of cake.  All with one hand.  It took me some time to notice that all the time we were talking a tiny bird was being held in one of her hands.  When I drew attention to the bird, she said it had flown into her kitchen window and stunned itself.  So she was holding it in her hand in the hope that the warmth of her hand would help revive it.  Sure enough the tiny bird began to become more lively and open and close its beak.  They say the best cure for shock in people is talking and warmth.  So Joyce was providing both to this tiny package of life.  After ten minutes the bird was much livelier and Joyce took it outside to see if it could fly.  Who does such things?  Who would share their human warmth with a tiny stunned bird.  Well, I hope you, like me, are strangely uplifted that Joyce certainly does!

Millenium Goals - the good news

Just over ten years ago the world’s leaders established goals and targets to free humanity from extreme poverty, hunger and disease.  The Millennium declaration set global priorities and allowed the world to focus their efforts.  I tend to be a cynic and am generally a half glass empty rather than a half glass full type but credit where credit is due – progress has been made, even in this financially taxing time.

Another example of what we can do when we work together is how the world tackled Smallpox.  Existing since 10,000 BC this disease was a real killer - estimates vary but proably 500 million people paid with their lives.  So when the world decided to eradicate this disease from the face of the earth it was no small task it set itself.   But it was united, a rare thing indeed for the human race, and in 1979 it succeeded in wiping this dreadful scourge out.  Speaks volumes about what this world can achieve when it sets its mind to it and acts as one! 

the hollow that is dug for those who speak no more

It is hard to learn from history.  We keep hoping that humanity is progressing and will not keep making the same mistakes but I get the feeling (given present events) that unless our noses are rubbed in our shit enough we will not learn the vital lessons that need to be learned. 

The Rwanda Massacre which happened in 1994 is recent enough not to be forgotten but as more facts emerge we will need to re-visit it anew.  The President of Rwanda, Habyarimana had been power two decades and was terrified he would not be re-elected so he decided to deliberately stir up hatred for the Tutsi minority (14%) of the population in the Hutu majority (85%).  This involved using physical attacks as well as verbal abuse.  They directed six instances of massacres of hundreds of Tutsi from Oct 1990 even before the real genocide began in earnest. 

Habyarimana transformed the youth of his party into militia known as Interahamwe and they were encouraged to use violence as were others for political purposes.  It is disheartening to note that the machetes that were used to kill so many during the terrible genocide that followed were imported in large quantities at this time from British and Chinese manufacturers.  One wonders why none of these manufacturers queried the need for 100,000 machetes in 1994? 

When President Habyarimana’s plane was shot down, on April 6, 1994, Tutsis were blamed and the massacre got under way.  Subsequently, it has been discovered (17 years later) that the weapon shot at the plane came from one of the Hutu camps.  But there was to be no mistakes in rolling out the effective killing machine that was put into place during the genocide.  Those who would have put a stop to the killing in their locality, the moderates, the wise, the respected community leaders were systematically targeted and killed.  Those involved in the killing frenzy knew that with these people in place, each would have served as a block to curtail the madness unfolding.  Remember that saying “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing” well it would appear that the murderers knew that good men and women needed to be removed from the scene entirely!

There are depressing academic papers now published (Philip Verwimp, Massacres in Rwanda) that have graphs showing numbers killed in the genocide by firearms, and tables giving percentages killed by machetes, clubs, pick axes, burned, hanged, drowned, buried alive etc  It makes depressing reading.  So too does the planning that went into the genocide.  Not only were weapons readied, militia trained for this purpose but media was used to broadcast a daily stream of anti-Tutsi hate propaganda (Radio Televison Libre Mille Collines (RTLMC) formed in 1993) who referred to opposition as “traitors who deserve to die” and the Tutsi as “cockroaches and snakes which should be stamped out”.  Broadcasts accused Tutsis of murdering Hutu babies and of vile sexual practices.  This served to whip up hatred and fear and when the killings started for real the radio even broadcast lists of people to be killed!  They called continuously for the total extermination of Tutsis.  Why did the International community allow, in the name of press freedom, this station to continue to exist?  But of course there are other questions too, the complete inability of the International Community to respond swiftly and effectively to the massacre shames us all. The International Community cannot even claim ignorance, it knew and it did next to nothing.  Between 800,000 and one million lost their lives in the Rwanda madness.  Can I summarise the learning for me.

1.      Prejudice and hatred would appear to prepare the ground nicely for genocide

2.      Genocide starts in hundreds of killings, these are the precursors to the mass killings that follow – action is needed before things get worse

3.      Corrupt leaders hanging onto power at whatever cost in lives seems worryingly common

4.      Providing weapons/instruments to killers is not a good idea, especially in excessive numbers (could manufacturers/governments take note)

5.      Media whipping up hatred and killing and providing lists of those to be killed – should surely be against international law?

6.      The International Community used to wring its hands and claim ignorance – that excuse does no longer hold (perhaps it never did) justice must prevail

7.      Good people in every community act as strongholds/brakes of reason and sanity in crazy times (hence the need to kill as many as possible beforehand when planning genocide) and the world needs many more of these voices of reason everywhere!

PS An air plane crashed on February 12, 2009, it was the Continental Connection Flight 3407, en route from Newark, New Jersey, to New York.  On board that flight was one Alison Des Forges, senior advisor to Human Rights Watch, who was no stranger to danger, violence and loss of life on a scale that defies belief.  It is my hope that in those last terrifying moments, as the plane fell, she felt her life had achieved something.  She was the person who did more than most to bring the Rwanda massacre to the attention of the whole world.  She put her life on the line within Rwanda to try and save lives and wrote the definitive reports on what was happening and why. She did not pass empty handed in to the hollow!

    “Soon will our handful of days, our vanishing life, be gone, and we shall pass, empty-handed, into the hollow that is dug for those who speak no more; … We must gird ourselves for service, kindle love's flame, and burn away in its heat. We must loose our tongues till we set the wide world's heart afire..”

Bahá’í Writings

The Lovely Mr Nikos

I remember calling at my son’s primary class in Greece and his teacher Mr Nikos seemed unusually agitated.  This was not like him at all.  He was the calmest, nicest Greek I had ever encountered.  His good humour and determined kindness had helped my volatile youngest son Daniel in his first year at Greek primary school.  Not speaking any Greek had been one disadvantage but such was Daniel’s bad temper he even made the boisterous and aggressive Greeks around him seem positively as mild as milk.  You got used to it in our household and sort of coped.  Like the time my uncle had won at monopoly and Daniel had immediately over turned the board and the table, storming out of the room.  In the awkward silence that followed my uncle in dry tones muttered, “Sure, if I knew it meant that much to him, I’d have let him win!”

Taking Daniel to learn team sports had proved equally disastrous.  When other players took the ball, pushed against him, he became righteously indignant and marched of the pitch, stiff necked in rage.  When really angry at home, he would walk onto our balcony and announce his intention to throw himself off.  His other brothers would chorus at such times, “Just do it!”

When a substitute teacher had taken over from the delightfully calm Mr Nikos there had been trouble.  A boy had got up and slapped Daniel on the back of the neck in class.  As Daniel got up to respond, the young teacher had told him to sit down.  Daniel told her what had happened but she informed him she had not seen the slap and he should sit down immediately.  Daniel responded in usual form by telling her she must be blind.  A shouting match ensued with escalating volume on both sides.  Neither would back down and finally the young teacher ran out of the class to seek help.  Daniel by now, was firmly in his, “Kill me if you like, I’m not backing down mode.”  The teacher returned out of breath with Mr Nikos in tow.  The wise Mr Nikos took Daniel outside into the corridor and closed the classroom door.  Having got an irate Daniel on his own, Mr Nikos knelt down in front of him and said in a warm and understanding tone.

“Daniel, I know you are a good boy”

This breeched Daniel’s enraged defences and he immediately burst into heartfelt sobs of apology – what a clever teacher.

So to find the calm, usually unruffled Mr Nikos enraged was a worrying development.  To add to the disquiet every single child in the room was sobbing.  Some with their heads on the table, others held shaking desks with shoulders heaving and tiny girls wailed their distress.  I walked my son home bewildered with the situation.  As we headed along the street Daniel explained that at lunch time a group of children from his class had surrounded a six year old mentally disabled Albanian child in the playground and threw stones at her and shouted abuse.  She had become distraught and Mr Nikos had heard about the event from other teachers as his class filed in for their last lesson of the day.  “What did he say?”  I asked.  Daniel said that Mr Nikos had told them a story about a tiny girl, with many problems, from a foreign country coming to a new school and feeling very alone and afraid.  Then, how she encountered a crowd of bullies who tormented her and even threw stones and abused her.  Imagine, if she was your little sister, he told them sadly and softly.  If your little sister was alone in our playground and it happened to her, how would you feel?  On and on he’d gone for the full 45 minutes until every child howled their hearts out at the injustice and unfairness of it all. – what a teacher!  He’d taught them all a valuable lesson that day.

When we were leaving Rhodes I’d wanted to thank Mr Nikos for all his kindness and wisdom.  So in my crude Greek, I told him how lovely he was, how really, really lovely.  Not knowing much Greek, I tend to re-use the same words.  Daniel squirmed in embarrassment beside me as I stressed again and again how lovely I thought Mr Nikos was.  Feeling that I had at least managed to do the right thing and conveyed my appreciation to a good teacher we headed home.  Daniel then pointed out that my Greek “lovely” actually meant “handsome” or “good looking” and I’d been wittering on about how attractive he was.  How very, very attractive, really good looking in fact.  As my cheeks glowed red in embarrassment, Mr Nikos’ surprised but usual understanding face burned in to my memory banks.